Point of Know Return
by MoonGoddessShadow
Summary: Throughout his decades in Hell, Dean is visited by Castiel, offering messages from his loved ones and forgiveness from God. It's just not easy to accept that an omnipotent being he doesn't believe in wants to save him. Vaguely angsty. No slash.
1. Father

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural, or any of the characters therein. This is where I say something typically fangirl-ish and express my wishes to own Dean/Jensen and Sam/Jared, right?

A/N: This is what happens when I listen to too much Kansas. Very loosely based on a few lines from the song of the same title. This'll be a few short chapters, each set ten years apart (in Hell time).

* * *

"_Dean Winchester..."_

His name echoed in the empty pit around him, a whisper among the screams of those he couldn't see, but knew the pain of. It was surreal; down here, he hadn't had a name in years. He was just a smartass piece of meat for Alistair to go to work on.

He wasn't on the rack itself right now. It was his "off time." Meat hooks tore his flesh away from the muscles. Flames scorched the wounds. The air itself burned his insides. And this was still better than being on the rack, under Alistair's deft hand.

"_Dean..."_

Maybe it was a new form of torture, because that voice was golden in his mind. It almost lessened the pain he felt. Alistair would be a bastard like that.

"_Dean."_

Yeah, he was ignoring it. It was an interesting idea on Alistair's part, but it wasn't gonna work. Honestly, ten years of torture and that was the best he could come up with? This guy was supposed to be a genius when it came to breaking people, and yet here he was, ten years in, and still on the rack. It had to be disappointing, and he gave Alistair credit for creativity, but it wasn't near enough to break him.

"_Dean, listen to me."_

_Shut it, you demonic son of a bitch,_ Dean thought back, though he couldn't voice it. He closed his eyes, like it would make the voice realize he wasn't going to give in, but the golden light in his mind just grew. Goddamn, he was persistent.

"_Don't use the Lord's name in vain, Dean."_

Oh, that was ironic, coming from a freaking demon.

"_I'm not a demon. I'm an angel of the Lord. Open your eyes, Dean."_

That was just hilarious. There was no such thing as angels, no matter what Mom said, and he was damn sure not opening his eyes for such a weak trick. Besides, what kind of angel would come down to Hell? And to see him, nonetheless. No, it was just frickin ridiculous.

"_Dean, listen to me. I come offering forgiveness from my Father. I can take you back."_

What a load of horse shit. Couldn't Alistair just quit now? The regular torture wasn't enough to break him, and this pitiful attempt wasn't going to do it either. No god would forgive him for the things he'd done. Besides, he sort of deserved where he was, after all his failures as a son and brother.

"_I am not a demon, Dean. I am here to take you back with me, but you must want the forgiveness God offers."_

_Just shut your pie hole and leave me alone,_ he replied mentally, but the golden presence only grew stronger. It was a warmth that was unlike the heat in the pit, but it wasn't outside of Alistair's power to pull that kind of crap on him.

"_Your father says you need to come with me, Dean. He needs you to get back out there, doing what you're meant to do. He needs you to fight for him."_

Low freaking blow, using his father. Maybe Alistair did know what he was doing. After all, he was his father's lap dog, right? Whoever this was, Alistair or not, he knew how to dig at Dean. Unfortunately, his anger toward his father kept him sane around here, and the mention of him just strengthened his resolve. Whatever Alistair's angle was, he was staying firmly on the rack. There was no way he was going to trade receiving this pain for giving it. He wasn't a saint, not by a long shot, but he couldn't give this torment to someone else. He just couldn't. He'd hate himself forever.

"Just go away," he finally muttered, finally finding the voice usually lost between each session of anguish. His eyes remained firmly shut, but he felt the golden presence fade reluctantly away.

"_I will return, Dean Winchester. Consider the Lord's forgiveness, and your father's words. You have a greater calling."_

He snorted in derision as whatever it was left. If he had any calling, it was to rot here in Hell for eternity. God wasn't looking out for him, that was for damn sure.


	2. Mother

A/N: This is possibly my fastest update ever. I mean that, too. I dunno how it happened. I'm just glad a few of you read and enjoyed it. I'm enjoying it, that's for sure.

* * *

He felt it before he saw it–that same golden warmth that had been sporadically visiting him for almost a decade now. He still wasn't quite sure what it really was. It asserted that it was an angel of the Lord, even gave him a name–Castiel–but this sort of false hope shit was exactly what Alistair would pull on him.

"_Dean."_

The voice probed his mind gently, like it did every time it dropped by. He hadn't noticed it at first, but after ten years or so of these talks, he knew exactly what this was like. Amidst the flickering flames, this light descended, so pure among the smoke and blood in the pit. He'd given up on not looking at it about three years ago; it actually made the pain better if he looked, but that made the juxtaposition of what came after even more painful. He wasn't sure whether he liked the reprieve or not.

"_I'm back, Dean."_

Well, no freaking way. This thing, whatever it was, had been in and out of Hell for ten years now, and as far as he knew, it only saw him. No one else on the rack seemed to know anything about it, but most of them didn't talk much anyway. Torture had a way of shutting people up.

"_The offer still stands, you know. I can save you from this place, from this pain."_

Yeah, he knew that bit. Accept the Lord's forgiveness and he could get out of Hell, get out of his eternity of punishment. It was just too good to be true. Chances were better that it was a trick by Alistair than it actually being an angel. Now would be a pretty shitty time for God to actually start giving a damn about him.

"_The Lord does care, Dean. He has a plan for you."_

Yeah, whatever. Castiel had fed him that line before. If there was a God, and he really doubted it, then he wouldn't want anything to do with someone who was, frankly, a bit degenerate, if not damn charming. After all, the way Pastor Jim always talked, God didn't exactly smile on people who enjoyed quite a few of the deadly sins.

"_God does love you. He knows what you are capable of, and knows what good you can accomplish if you return to earth."_

He tried not to look directly into the light. He had a feeling there was something that people weren't supposed to see in beyond the light and relief it offered. Really, whether it was a demon or angel, it was damn frightening, though for different reasons in each case. If it was a demon, then it was probably Alistair, and that alone was scary. That guy could be playing one hell of a long game, and Dean just didn't realize it yet. And if it was an angel... That meant that there was a god who let bad things happen in his own creation, and that scared him more.

"_God exists, and I am an angel. I am your angel, Dean. I have always watched over you."_

That was creepy, imagining an angel seeing everything he did. He kinda felt sorry for the angel, too. He'd done some crazy shit in his life, and not all of it was angel appropriate. That idea almost made him laugh, not to mention how ridiculous it was to imagine that he had a personal angel. From the little he knew about religion, most people had guardian angels, but not named angels, and Castiel was definitely an angelic name. Either the demons were clever, or an actual angel was his own. He more readily believed the former.

"_I am not a demon. I have protected you your entire life. Now, I come to offer you hope and redemption."_

Again with the redemption shit. No logical god would offer a sleaze like him redemption, let alone a free pass out of literal Hell.

"_He does, Dean. I come to extend your freedom once again."_

Sounded so sweet and tempting. It almost hurt him not to accept, but his life had taught him to be cautious of things that sounded too good to be true. This would probably end up with him in a lower level of Hell. If this circle was having an arm cut off with a rusty saw and no anesthesia, the ones below him were being disemboweled with a dirty fork while a bear slowly ate your skin, section by section. No, right now he'd rather not tempt fate. This torture was better than trying for freedom with a nonexistent god and ending up with a worse form of torment.

"_Your mother sent a message for you with me."_

That piqued his interest. His mom... That was a soft spot. He hadn't known her very well before she was murdered, but he'd known her more than Sam had. Every small memory he had, he cherished. Whether he knew or remembered her well at all, he loved her wholeheartedly; she was his mother. That was all he needed.

"Tell me," he managed, voice barely a hoarse whisper. Twenty years in the pit did a number on his ability to speak, though he still knew where to tell Alistair to stick it.

"_She says she loves you, Dean. She knows you can do the right thing, and says that you are strong enough to live again. You have always been strong, Dean."_

That was painful, more so than the torture. She loves him... Those gilded words hung in his mind. His mother loved him. Real or not, that message was enough to make him feel better, less like he was in Hell. Not that he could forget, or believe that this angel was real. Angels weren't real. They just weren't. That would upturn everything he'd believed since the Fire.

"_I am real, Dean, and you must believe me. Will you accept the Lord's offer of salvation?"_

He couldn't, he just couldn't. It couldn't be true. No god cared for him enough to pull him out of Hell. It was all a trick. It had to be. Maybe Alistair did know what he was doing.

"_So you again reject God's redemption?"_

He had to. It wasn't real. Not his mom's message, not the relief he felt, not the offer to leave Hell.

He could almost hear the light sigh.

_"So be it. I will return, Dean. Just remember my message."_

And it was gone, fading into the ether as pain flooded his body again. Hooks pierced his skin, acid dripped into his half-formed scabs, and though he didn't notice it, tears rolled down his cheeks.


	3. Brother

A/N: Sorry this update took so long. Musical at my school got in the way, and vacation finally cured that whole "I know I should be writing this..." syndrome. Well, for this story at least. Anyway, there's just one definite chapter after this, and a very slim possibility for a fifth. I don't know exactly what the fifth would entail past the vague ideas for dialogue that popped into my head as I wrote this. Officially, there is one chapter left. We'll leave it at that.

* * *

He'd prayed a lot in the last ten years, far more than he ever had in life. It was just something he'd tried once, something he'd heard the other tortured souls doing; it almost made him feel better. It was probably just another reason for Alistair to laugh at him, but he had to believe in something, anything. It was a harsh life without a belief, he knew that much. He believed in Sam, in the existence of unimaginable evil, but he'd never believed in religion until now, no matter how hard Pastor Jim tried. Now, he didn't have a lot of faith, or any at all, but being in Hell... It made a guy hope for something more. That was probably why Castiel came to visit so often. He didn't necessarily have faith, but the angel, if he really was one, came to him anyway.

Now, after a long day, his prayers were more fervent. Alistair had to know by now about the weekly, sometimes daily, angelic visits he received. Maybe he was just feeling extra vicious today, but he doubted that. Alistair seemed to know everything, whether he let on or not. Either way, he knew seeing his angel guardian would make him feel a little bit better, even if he couldn't erase a fraction of the pain.

"_I am here, Dean."_

"Hey, man," the young man whispered back, words sounding more casual than he'd felt in decades. The overpowering light of his friend filled every corner of his vision and mind. The pain instantly lessened; it had been about five years since he stopped caring whether or not this was some elaborate plan on his torturer's part. Any way to feel better was okay with him.

"_You know that is not true."_

Damn, it was still weird when Cas read his mind. The guy was right, though; there was another way he could escape the pain. A few, actually. He just didn't have the cojones to accept either of the big offers, no matter how much their representatives pushed them.

Every day, before the torture began, Alistair would twirl his blade between his fingers and offer him release from the rack, if only he started torturing others. He turned it down every time, but it was getting harder. These days, only the words from his mother, almost a decade old, and the visits with Castiel kept him from utter despair. Thirty years in Hell took their toll on a guy, and every day, he almost gave in. It was getting harder and harder to tell the demon to shove it, and that scared him.

"_I know you are strong, Dean. It is why the Lord has chosen you."_

Yeah, that was the other big option. He could leave Hell, go back to earth, see Sammy again, but then he would be God's puppet. And that was beside the fact that he still didn't fully trust Castiel. He accepted the relief he offered, but that still didn't mean he wasn't a front for some demonic ploy. A life raised as a soldier had taught him to be wary of anything that sounded too good to be true, and angels were among the lowest end of his belief scale, along with Bigfoot and UFOs.

Not that it mattered much anymore. He didn't care a whole lot about his own existence these days. Memories of his former life had begun to fade, and that was without a doubt the scariest thing down here. He still remembered Sam, his dad, what they did and the people they met, but the little things had started to elude him. He couldn't remember where they hunted some creatures, or the bars he really liked. They were just little things, but the fact that he just couldn't remember them was damn scary. He knew, from what Ruby said, that this was the beginning of becoming a demon.

"_You will not suffer if you come with me. This can all be over and behind you."_

He didn't believe that for a minute. It was unfathomable that he could just put all of this behind him. Even if he did go back, every flesh-rending cut, every searing burn would haunt him for the rest of his life. Those weren't just things you forgot.

"_I cannot promise you will forget, but the Lord and I will ease you through it. So will Sam, if you allow him."_

Sam had enough on his plate without Dean's problems. The kid probably didn't have it so easy, not since Dean's death. He wasn't one to bottle it all up, but like he said, he didn't have anyone now. Dad and Dean were dead, and even though he still had Bobby and Ellen, Sam wasn't the type to turn to others for help. If he really had become like Dean, like he said he had to, then he definitely wouldn't look anywhere else for help. If anything, he'd be self-destructively looking for a way to bring Dean back. Maybe Castiel was that way, and he was just too stupid to realize. Maybe Sam had come in contact with the angels that he'd always believed in, and now Dean was too stubborn to take the way out.

"_That is not the case. Though you are stubborn, I am acting as a messenger of God. Your brother has nothing to do with this. He does wish desperately for your return, though, and has been using questionable means to attempt to rescue you."_

Questionable means... Dean wasn't quite sure what Cas meant by that, but it didn't make him feel any good at all. Hopefully, he was just trying to bargain at a crossroads, and things like that. All that reawakening his powers crap that Ruby had fed him was trouble waiting to happen.

"_Something like that. I have been watching him silently for these past few months, and many times he has unsuccessfully tried to find a way out of your deal. Lately, he has been having less than noble thoughts about his demonic gifts and their utilization."_

Fan-freaking-tastic. Sammy going demon general just to rescue him was the last thing they needed. He'd rather stay in this pit for all eternity than have his brother used those goddamn powers to try to save him. How far was the kid willing to go? Dean thought he knew his little brother's boundaries, and he'd really hoped the kid would know when it was flat-out insanity to keep trying.

Maybe his death had really damaged the kid; he knew that Sam was the world to him, but Dean thought his brother was stronger than he'd ever been. He'd survived at Stanford without Dean for four years, after all, while the older Winchester had clung to Dad and the hunt.

"_That is why you must return with me. Sam is pondering just how far he can go until there is no return, and the line between good and evil is being blurred by his demon friend day by day. You must rise again and show him the right path before he deviates too far to be saved."_

There was that temptation again–freedom, release, dangling just before him. He desperately wanted this, to see Sam again, to taste a cold beer, to sit behind the wheel of his baby and just blow down the open road. He could almost hear the roar of the wind mixed with the blare of Metallica as Sam explained the next job, and smiled his stupid grin as Dean called him a bitch.

And in a flash, it was gone, snapping back to the scalding flames, the agonized cries of Hell. He couldn't. He just couldn't. He'd made this deal, and he had to serve it out; Sam could die otherwise, and that wasn't even remotely worth it. This was his penance, and it was all he deserved.

Besides, no one could cheat Hell. That was a fact of life when you were a hunter. He just had to accept that, whether he deserved it or not, this was his lot, and it could only get worse from here. He didn't have the absolute faith he needed to take that sort of a plunge. He wasn't strong enough for that.

"I can't," he whispered, words choking his suddenly dry throat. He felt, rather than saw, Castiel hang his head solemnly.

"_So be it. I will always be by your side if you need me or wish to accept this salvation."_

Like always, the angel was gone in an instant, allowing all the pain and horror to flood back to Dean's mind and body. Torment was all he could be worthy of right now, he was sure of that. No redemption for the unworthy, and he was beyond unworthy.

Scars could linger in his memories, and flames could bite away his flesh, but that night, and the tortuous months that followed, the thought of Sam dipping into his demonic power stores, eyes glimmering an obsidian black, haunted him more than the beating and slicing ever had.


	4. Dean

A/N: Alright, here you go. This one kind of floundered for a while, but I think I got it where I wanted it to be. Like I mentioned in the last author's note, this won't be the last chapter; I'm halfway through writing a short epilogue to sort of tie this all in with the show. Hopefully, I'll be done with that one later this weekend, but I make no promises. Anyway, here goes. Enjoy.

* * *

He twisted the blade between his fingers, chuckling ruefully as the soul laid out before him pleaded for her life. A decade ago–had it really been a decade?–he'd been the one strung up, crying out in agony as someone tore him into strips. Oh, how the years had changed him. He was the torturer now, the studied student of Hell's most prolific master of pain. The only difference between him and Alistair was a couple dozen centuries and the total corruption of his soul. They couldn't make up the time difference, but give it another decade and he'd be far enough down the rabbit hole that being human would only be a fleeting memory.

Not that he could remember much about his human life anymore. It was terrifying, sometimes, but with every slash and slice, another memory went. The most vivid thoughts he had left of his life up top were of his family, Bobby, the Impala and the vindication of burying a bullet in Yellow Eyes. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't remember his favorite beer, how to clean a shotgun or the bustiest Asian babe. Even if those were just trivial things, it scared him shitless how quickly his humanity was fading and the demonic urges began filling that void.

He felt so weak, for giving in, for not being able to perform the task assigned, for choosing the easy way out every time. It killed him on the inside, thinking about how his father wanted him to be, and how pathetic he actually was–he couldn't even say no to torturing other people.

He'd done some awful things in his life, but never like this. Whenever he'd hurt or killed someone, it was because they couldn't be saved from whatever had possessed them, and death was a better option than going on like that. Now, he was hurting people for no better reason than they were here, and it was his job. Not all of these people were innocent, but no one deserved what he did to them.

In the beginning, torturing had taken more of a toll on him than it had on his victims; usually, Alistair had to finish the job for him. Alistair had been patient with him, slowly teaching him just how to flay a man alive, how to ignore their pleas, or turn the words of weakness back on them. The process had been slow in turning him–he was still mostly human–but it had done its job in him breaking down and building him into a new creature. He hated himself for even giving in, but his teacher gave him all the care and attention that he needed to finally do the job. It had gotten better–now he could finish anyone with ease, and enjoy it.

It was a sick pleasure, being in control after so many years of being pushed around like a chess piece on his dad's board. Now he was directing his own destiny, and even Alistair wasn't telling him what to do. He was only second to a demon that didn't question his tactics; it felt sickeningly good.

When he remembered his humanity, it ate away at him. Alistair seemed to realize this, and made sure he didn't have a lot of free time between the damned. He could hardly live with the gut-twisting memory of how much he loved ripping into anyone in front of him–serial killer or womanizer, he tore them all up, with varying emotional torture, and savored every scream, hating himself all the more for it. Nothing could assuage him in the time in between, the time when he wasn't a demon or a torturer, but another damned soul suffering for what he'd done.

Even the so-called angel that he'd spoken to over the early years had forsaken him. Castiel obviously realized he was a lost cause; he hadn't visited in years. After he'd pussed out and accepted Alistair's deal, the angel had been to see him sporadically, but he seemed weaker each time. His light was less intense each time, and eventually, when Dean was at his worst and refused to even talk to him, he'd sadly left for the last time. Every so often, Dean thought he'd catch a glimpse of a shimmering gold on the edge of his vision, but it was gone before he could call out to the angel.

Of course, he'd heard the rumblings of a siege on Hell from the other torturers around him, but he'd never thought much of it. Hell, after all, was a fortress, and nothing he'd ever even heard rumors of could bust in intentionally. Even if someone, or something, tried getting in, the demon hordes could push them out easily. It was their home turf, after all, where they were the strongest. If the forces of Heaven really were trying to get in, like some demons thought, then they would have a rough time even making it past the first barricades. He secretly hoped Cas was pushing his way in, though; he sincerely liked the guy for reasons he couldn't rightly name.

Sometimes, when he felt more demon than human, he'd hurl insults into the Pit, hoping the angel heard him. Usually, though, he hoped that Castiel would return and offer his redemption once again. He couldn't live with himself much longer and still hold onto his humanity.

It was so laughingly ironic that only in Hell could he actually find a belief in God. It wasn't strong by any means, but compared to how he felt up top and how many felt down here, he was a frigging disciple. He'd given himself over to the idea that Castiel was a real angel a long time ago, because it was just too up his alley to refuse salvation while in Hell, and only realize how real it was when it was too late. He was pretty sure that his new, vague beliefs were the only thing keeping him remotely human down here.

He wondered what God thought now, as the one guy he'd tried to save now sunk a blade into a poor brunette's side. Her only crime in life had been committing suicide, and now he was here to make her eternity as horrific as possible. The big guy had probably abandoned him a long time ago; he couldn't imagine any omnipotent being tolerating his bullheaded idiocy for this long. Funny that now, when he really needed a god, there was nothing to be found, save for the demonic belief in Lucifer, and he was damn well not getting into that.

He just... He couldn't handle this anymore. Humanity was slipping away from him; he could feel it. It wouldn't be much longer before it was all gone, and so was he. Alistair was preening him for something big, something wrong, and he didn't want any part of it, but he found it harder to resist with every cut he dealt. More than ever, he needed redemption.

"Please," he whispered, pulling the blade out of the whimpering girl. She didn't notice his words, too caught up in her own pain, and he hesitated to hurl another taunt at her. Something was bolstering his humanity, and he just couldn't tear into her anymore. He saw, or just imagined, a thin golden light on the edge of his vision, and again, he muttered into the flames, "Please."

"_Hello, Dean. It has been a while."_

He breathed a small sigh of relief, just hearing Castiel's voice, even if it was weaker than it used to be. It still managed to strip away part of his demonic shell; his mind felt clearer than it had in years. The angel seemed to realize the effect he was having on Dean, and allowed a few more moments of silence to help the poor soul.

"I can't do this anymore," he finally muttered, hanging his head.

"_It is not the path you were meant for, Dean. You are destined for God's work."_

Whatever that meant, he didn't care anymore. Just escaping, that was all that mattered. If God could do it, more power to him. He just couldn't be in Hell much longer without going beyond the reaches of religion.

"I'm ready, Cas." His hand trembled; the knife dropped to the floor. "I'm ready for whatever it is you're offering."

"_You are willing to accept God's offer of grace and salvation?"_

The angel's voice grew stronger with every word, just like the brilliant light that burnt away the sulfur and blood around him and filled him with strength. Had it always felt like this, being human?

"Yeah, I am." He sighed, stepping away from the girl entirely. Castiel seemed to smile, in an ethereal sort of way.

"_Good, Dean. Come with me."_

A hand that he could barely discern firmly grasped his shoulder. Though he could feel the angel lifting him away, his mind faded into oblivion, his last thoughts dwelling on Hell before he was lost in gilded light.


	5. Epilogue

A/N: Final chapter, whoo! I mean, it's sad, being done, but it's nice, too. Now I just have a fw other, larger fics to pay attention to once again. Anyway, I hope this sort of wraps things up the way I wanted it to. Not that the last chapter wouldn't have been enough, but this gave me some peace of mind with a few lingering questions, mostly like, "Why didn't Dean remember any of this in-show?" Alas, it's the end here. Thanks for reading and/or reviewing. You guys are fantastic.

* * *

"What the hell was that?" Dean asked as Castiel stepped away, fingers moving from the young hunter's forehead. He looked up at his heavenly friend from his spot on the edge of a motel mattress that was beyond its comfort guarantee, an eyebrow raised. "Was that real?"

The angel nodded. "Very much so."

"Even the messages from my family?" Castiel nodded in the affirmative. "Then why didn't I remember it until you pulled your Vulcan mind whammy on me?" he asked, rubbing his temple and glancing to the suited man. "I've got every detail of the Pit burned into me like a hi-def snuff film, and the only redeeming thing I ever felt down there is the one thing I forget? Sorry man, but what the fuck?"

Castiel frowned at the swear, but moved past it after a moment.

"Those higher up than myself deemed it better that you not remember until the time was right," he stated. "I simply did as I was told."

Dean just shook his head and stood up, crossing the room to a half-filled bottle of Jack on the dresser. He poured a shot worth into a throwaway plastic cup and downed it before looking back to the angel.

"Okay, so why now? Why, after all these freaking months, is now the right time for me to remember?" he asked, voice calm but dangerously close to revealing his less than pleased inner thoughts. He didn't like being messed with, and he'd thought they were past the random touched by an angel moments.

"You have expressed the beginnings of true faith, Dean," Castiel replied, stoic. The hunter furrowed his brow.

"You mean that time I prayed? What's that got to do with anything?"

Castiel sighed, taking a seat on the bed parallel to the one Dean had sat on, and looked his human charge in the eyes.

"Dean, only someone with true faith can end this war for good. We wanted you to find this faith on your own, not because you were forced to."

"And you didn't think angels in Hell were enough?" It was Castiel's turn to raise an eyebrow.

"It has taken you this long, with angels and more, so no, I do not believe these memories would have sufficed on their own, not for the faith we require." Dean grinned vaguely at the hints of humor in his angel's voice and poured another shot of Jack.

"Alright, you got me there, man." He slammed back the booze, not even reacting to the burn; when he looked back at Castiel, his expression was more serious. "So if you could erase all those memories, why couldn't you just get rid of all my time in Hell? Would've made things a lot freaking easier for me."

"I did not erase your memories. I only blocked them from you. Any jarring experiences could have dislodged them before now." Dean shrugged, accepting the semantics and logic; Castiel continued on to the other issue that he knew Dean really wanted to address. "As for your time in Hell... I am sorry, Dean, but those I could not block even if I wanted to, for a multitude of reasons." The elder Winchester raised both eyebrows.

"Such as...? Elaborate here, Cas." The angel's eyes moved away from Dean's own, to a nondescript portion of the wallpaper.

"Your experiences were too... vast to block. Attempting to do so could have irreparably damaged your mind. And there would be no assurance that they would stay that way. In fact, something would almost definitely have broken through eventually, and that situation would have turned out infinitely worse than this one."

He paused, eyes darting around the room as he thought about how to say the last part. Dean just waited, eyes never leaving the thinking angel. Finally, Castiel looked back to the other man.

"Dean, you must first understand what the earth will be like if Lilith wins. It is no great exaggeration when demons say 'Hell on earth.'" Realization dawned in the hunter's eyes as what Castiel implied sunk in. The angel nodded. "Yes, Dean. If Lucifer rises, all of humanity will go through what you went through. Everything you experienced there will be inflicted on every innocent person–demons will reign over this world, fires will burn until the sky is black, the only sounds will be the screams of the suffering. You, above all people God could have chosen, know what you are fighting for, and what the price is if we lose. And that is why, beyond all other reasons, I could not block your memories of Hell."

Dean stared at him for a moment, processing all of this; another shot of Jack helped before he approached the sitting angel, taking up his spot on the opposite bed once again.

"Okay, so what now? I have all these memories, and whatever faith you think I have, and I'm the only person who can end the Apocalypse, according to prophecies, or whatever. What am I supposed to do now? Just save the world, that's it?"

"I don't know, Dean. I don't know any more about the future than I am told. All I know is that we must win, for all of creations' sake."

"And it all rests on us, and Sammy not going dark side, doesn't it?" Castiel didn't answer, but that was enough for Dean. He shook his head and stood to grab the whole bottle of whiskey. "Fan-freaking-tastic."


End file.
